Winter Will Turn Into Spring
by darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: Taken from my series "Another Time, Another Place". Jon is accepted by Catelyn, and named Stark rather than Snow. When Ned rides South, he takes Jon with him and Jon is named King Robert's new squire. Kings Landing has never been a safe place for the Starks, and nothing has changed. In progress.
1. Chapter 1

Catelyn stared down at the little babe in the cot, listening to his coos and happy little cries. He smiled up at her, and she gave him her little finger to hold in his tiny fist. A strangers eyes stared up at her, but for the first time, she saw past them and only saw the eyes of this little boy. All at once, she saw this little boy for what he really was - not a betrayal; only a baby. A mop of curly black hair, still matted from fever, almost reached his dark eyes, his cheek dimpled as he smiled, his feet kicked happily. So like her own son, but at once so different. She reached down into the cot and picked him up, resting him on her hip. He was fourteen months old, growing bigger and stronger every day. Soon he'd be speaking, and she wondered what his first word would be. Certainly not "mama", as Robb's had been a few weeks earlier. She rubbed his back, still covered in raised marks from the pox that had almost killed him.

"Who's a good boy?" She cooed down at him, surprised at herself. "My brave, brave boy." The night had been difficult; hours of staring into the darkness, listening to his ragged breaths and watching the sweat pour off him. It was the afternoon now, and his recovery had been something miraculous. Heavens sent.

A knock on the door disturbed her, and she turned her head and called for them to come in. Ned stood at the door, smiling at the unexpected sight. Jon recognised him and called out in his baby voice. "Ba ba ba!"

"He's getting better then." He chuckled, walking over to his wife and bastard son. "It's good to see him smile again." He pinched Jon's cheek lightly, and the little boy reached up to grab his hair. Eddard chuckled deeply, pulling his hair out of his son's fist and brushing it away out of his grasp. He wrapped an arm around his wife, holding them both close to him.

"I was so sure he would die." Catelyn said quietly as she leaned into her husband, his bastard still embraced to her. "I did a terrible thing, Ned."

"I know," he said, sighing deeply. "I heard you last week saying your prayers. I didn't say anything because I understood your anger. Was this your prayer being answered and then denied?" He didn't sound angry, but his voice was low and soft. Believing in different Gods, Ned believed that only prayers to the Old Gods were answered, and doubted the power of these New ones.

"I don't know. I know that last night, in the very height of the darkness, I made a prayer wheel and begged the Gods to let him live." Ned listened carefully, not sure what to say. "I made a promise to the Gods." She said slowly. "I promised that if Jon lived, I would be a mother to him. I would have you write to Robert and ask that he be named Stark."

"And do you wish to keep this promise?" Ned asked cautiously. Catelyn looked down at the babe on her hip, now resting quietly against her chest playing with her Tully pin. Would it be such a bad thing to be this little boy's mother? To forget about his real mother, a woman who's name she didn't even know, and call him her own?

"Yes. Yes, I do. I can't forgive your betrayal, Ned, but I can't condemn him to life as a bastard. I'll be a mother to him." Ned broke out into a rare smile that reached his eyes, and kissed her deeply.

"I don't deserve you." He whispered into her lips.

"Perhaps not," she replied, smiling as tears rolled down her cheeks. "But he does."

* * *

"Mama, mama look!" Catelyn looked up from her sewing to see Jon walking on his hands along the floor, legs flailing wildly in the air. He was beaming happily, and she laughed.

"Very good!" Robb ran into the room and grabbed his brother's legs, pushing him to the floor and jumping on top of them, and they started wrestling.

"Boys!" They were both nearly four, and terrified of being told off. Her sharp tone alarmed them, and they stopped wrestling. "Go and play in the yard. I'm trying to rest." She was near her time with her second pregnancy, and had been confined to her bed with swollen ankles. The boys had been running in and out all week trying to entertain her, and it warmed her heart to know they both cared about her so much. That night two years ago seemed more like a lifetime in the past. It had not been easy forgetting all the hate she had felt since his birth, but by focusing on the child himself rather than his mother and what his father had done to her, Catelyn, she had come to feel a love for him that was just as fierce as the one she felt for her true son.

The royal decree declaring Jon a Stark had come quickly, and Ned was thankful Robert would grant him such a request, when other houses had been refused legitimacy for their bastards. Knowing Jon could now inherit lands when he died gave him comfort; the thought of his son destitute or abandoned after his death was one that he could not stomach. He had been lucky that Catelyn had come round, something that he doubted would ever happen when he first brought another woman's babe home with him from war.

Catelyn had not told Jon that she was not his true mother, but she saw the looks some of the servants gave him, and wondered how long it would be before someone called him "Bastard".

* * *

The day Catelyn had feared came when Jon was eight, nearly nine. He was a young nine year old, unsure in himself, while Robb brimmed with confidence. He ran into the castle from sword practice, his little face stained with tears. He ran into her in the hall way, blind to anyone else. She was with child again, still a little while to wait, and caught Jon before he knocked her over.

"Now, what's all this?" She asked him, bending down to brush the hair out of his eyes, kneeling at his height. "What's the matter?"

"T-they s-said I'm a..a..a.." he heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his whole body shook. Catelyn felt dread pool in her belly. She had been waiting for this day for years, and it had finally come. "T-they said I'm a bastard." He finally whispered, his shoulders still heaving as he shook.

"Come with me, my darling. We'll find your father." She stood up with some difficulty and took his hand in hers. "Come." They walked in silence, save for Jon's little sobs, to the main hall where Ned sat at the long table with Rodrik Cassel. They were engrossed in papers, and Catelyn coughed gently as she stood in front of them. Ned looked up, and saw his son's tear stained face. He looked to Catelyn, who nodded gently.

"Ser Rodrik, carry on without me." Ned commanded, knowing some things did not acquire his personal attention and could be handled by others. Jon, however, could not.

"Aye, m'lord." Ned got up from his seat and walked to his wife, taking Jon's other hand. They walked, once again in silence, to Ned and Catelyn's chamber. Sitting Jon down on the bed, Catelyn sat beside him while Ned stood at the fore.

"Jon, do you know what a bastard is?" Catelyn asked. The little boy nodded. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"A baby born to a highborn lord or lady that is not married to the mother or father." His voice was barely a whisper. Ned took a deep breath.

"When I was at war, I met a woman. We made you." Ned spoke, wary of being too graphic for the sakes of Jon and Catelyn both. "I was not married to her, I was married to Catelyn, your mama. I brought you home to Winterfell to be raised alongside Robb. Catelyn wanted to be a mother to you." He decided not to mention the two years she spent loathing him. "She is your mother, in all but blood. I wrote to King Robert and asked that you be allowed to be named Stark, not Snow. Do you understand?" Jon nodded. "You may have been a bastard once, but you are a Stark now. Just as much as me, as much as Robb, as much as Sansa and baby Arya."

"Where is my mother?" He asked, sniffling. "Why didn't she want me? Did she die?"

"Yes, son. She died giving birth to you. I'm sure she'd be very proud of you. Just as your mama and I are. Nothing has changed. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He nodded, still looking a bit wary.

"Who called you a bastard?" Catelyn asked gently, sure she already knew the answer.

"T-Theon." She was right; ever since the Greyjoy boy had arrived as a ward, she was suspicious of him. He was too loud, too rough and too inconsiderate of the feelings of others.

"I'll speak to Theon." Ned said firmly, and Catelyn nodded. "Right son, you calm down and then go back out and carry on training. I've got to return to the hall, we have much to do." He walked over to his son and ruffled his hair, and rested his hand on his pregnant wife's belly. "You, wife, get some rest." She nodded, smiling, watching as her husband left.

* * *

Jon grew strong, happy in his home with his family. Catelyn had almost forgotten she was not his mother; she found her love for him was no different to the love she felt for the children she had birthed. Jon had learned to fight, hunt and ride as well as any noble, and the circumstances of his birth had all but been forgotten by the people of Winterfell. Theon still lingered, and the two had never really gelled with each other, though both were close in their own ways to Robb. Jon was kind to everyone, a trait Catelyn admired, and accompanied his father and older brother on journeys around the North when Ned was needed elsewhere. He was turning into a handsome young man, and she had started to think about his future prospects. Robb was the Heir to Winterfell, but second born sons had no certain path. Ned wanted one son to join the Night's Watch at some point, as Starks had done for thousands of years, but Catelyn was cautious about condemning one of her sons, Jon included in this, to a life not knowing the joy of family and the love of a good woman.

* * *

"Come on Bran!" Robb and Jon stood watching as their younger brother took aim at the target, a stern look of determination on his face. He was ten, and aspired to be like his older brothers who were both skilled at archery. He pulled his arm back, and the arrow flew towards the target, missing it entirely. Jon and Robb laughed, infuriating him.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Their father's voice rang out from behind them, and they looked up guiltily. Eddard and Catelyn stood watching, a smile on her face, happy to see her children laughing and joking together. Bran steeled himself and reloaded his bow, stretching the string and ready to fire, as an arrow flew past him and hit the bullseye. Turning around, the three boys saw their sister Arya standing triumphantly, bow in hand. She did a graceful curtsey, pleased to see her brothers look so shocked at her skills. Bran dropped his bow and began to chase her, and she ran as fast as she could.

Rodrik Cassell was relucant to approach Lord Stark at such a care free family moment, but there was work to be done. Walking to Lord and Lady Stark, he announced his business.

"Lord Stark, we've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch." He announced, and Ned nodded in solemn understanding.

"Get the lads ready." Cassell nodded. "Tell Bran he's coming too." With one final nod, Rodrik walked away to prepare the men and horses.

"Ned, ten is too young to see such things." Catelyn wanted to hold her children close to her, shield them from the horrors of the world. Bran was still so innocent, and a beheading was the last thing she wanted him to see.

"He won't be a boy forever. And winter is coming." There was no point in arguing - even after all these years, the brutality of Northern life was something that still seemed wrong to her. Ned walked away, and she stared down at the courtyard. Jon was busy gathering up the arrows. He felt her gaze on him, and looked up and smiled.

"Everything alright, mother?" He called up, and she nodded.

"Your father's readying to deal with a deserter," she called down. "You're going with him." Jon nodded, placed the arrows back in their holder, and walked off to get ready.

Bran felt sick as he stared at the deserter, still dressed in black, babbled about the White Walkers. Watching Ice be brought down on his neck, Bran wondered if the man had been speaking the truth, or if it was just madness. As Ned walked towards his sons, he wondered if he had done the right thing bringing Bran to see this. Jon and Robb were a little older the first time they had seen their first execution.

Walking through the forest back to Winterfell, the party discovered the rotting corpse of a Stag, mutilated with such force that Ned wondered aloud what animal could do it. A few paces on, they discovered the culprit - a dead direwolf, an antler lodged firmly in it's throat. Ned had never seen his house's sigil in the flesh, and to see such a majestic creature lying dead in front of him saddened him.

"What's that?" Jon asked, hearing quiet little mews. Getting closer, he saw several tiny pups. Leaning to pick one up, he offered it to Bran. "Do you want to hold it?"

"They'll never survive this far South." Rodrik spoke.

"Aye, better a quick death." Ned said, as Theon agreed and pulled out his dagger and snatched the pub away from Bran.

"Put away your blade!" Robb demanded, and Theon scoffed.

"I take orders from your father, not you." He said with a sneer.

"Please father!" begged Bran, reaching out to the pup. Jon counted the puppies, looking around to make sure there were no more.

"I'm sorry Bran."

"Father, there are five pups, I don't mind not having one." He said. "The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them." Ned relented.

"You will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves." They scooped up the remaing wolves and left the clearing. As they were leaving, Jon heard the cry of another pup - an albino. Theon turned, and laughed.

"The runt of the litter - that one's yours, Snow." Theon would never let Jon forget the circumstances of his birth, though everyone else had long forgotten. Jon tucked the pup into his cloak and ignored him.

* * *

A raven brought news from Kings Landing one Summer day, telling of the death of Jon's namesake, Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. Catelyn stood in the Godswood, scroll in hand, and told him the news; the King rode North with a royal entourage, and it was then Ned knew what he wanted.

"You can always say no, Ned." Ned shook his head; there was no way Robert would take no for an answer after riding all this way. "I want to come with you."

"You should stay with Robb. Rickon's too young to leave Winterfell anyway, I don't want him raised like a Southener. I'll take some of the children with me, then as Rickon grows and Robb is more comfortable as acting Lord of Winterfell, you can join me." he told Catelyn. "If Robert asks, that is. Why else would he ride so far North?"

"Take Jon with you." Catelyn said. "He needs to be somewhere with opportunities for him. Perhaps squiring for a Lord, or something. He'd make a fine commander, he's got a quick mind, he's fair, logical. Maybe he could marry a second daughter of a House in Kings Landing."

"Aye, I'll see what I can do for him." Ned promised, knowing how much Catelyn worried for all her children. "He'll be alright, you know." She nodded. "I'll take the girls as well." Catelyn smiled, though the thought of her daughters leaving her side and being thrust into the poisonous enviroment of Kings Landing scared her. Jon would watch over them as he always had, she knew, but Sansa was so easily impressed and Arya so wild, she couldn't help but worry they would find themselves in danger in that rat's nest.

* * *

When the King arrived at Winterfell, Jon stood between Robb and Sansa in the line waiting to greet the Royal party. The entire household, from Lord Stark to the blacksmith, were gathered in the courtyard of Winterfell, all kneeling with heads bent. When the King signaled for Eddard to rise, they all stood up, and Jon got a chance to see the man he had so often hear his father speak about with great fondness. Jon stared at the King as he hugged his father and mother. He had heard so much about King Robert as a fearless warrior from his father, he was astounded to see a fat old man before him. This was the man who had changed his life - turned him from a bastard into a true born son carrying his father's name, and Jon had much to thank him for.

"Who have we here? You must be Robb." The King stood closer to him now, and Jon could smell the stink of wine on him. Robb merely nodded, and shook his hand firmly. King Robert moved to speak to Jon, and met his gaze straight on.

"And you must be Jon." The King said, looking him up and down. "How old are you both? Seventeen?"

"Yes, your Grace." Robb replied - he was a few months older than Jon, taller too, with Tully red hair.

"Almost, your Grace." Jon answered after his brother, and the King nodded, moving on to speak to his siblings.

Shortly after, Robert and Ned spoke in the crypts - Robert proposing the union of Sansa and Joffrey. He had another proposal Ned wasn't expecting.

"Your son, the bastard." Ned stiffened. Robert laughed, seeing his face, and clapped him heavily on the back. "Sorry, former bastard. I'll have him as my new squire. Gods knows he'll be more use than the little Lannister shit Cersei's saddled me with."

"Thank you, your Grace. I'm sure Jon will be honoured. He's a good lad, he'll serve you well."

"As long as he knows how to pour wine and kill things, he'll do you proud."


	2. Chapter 2

Catelyn and Ned lay in bed, content in each others arms. They had just made love, and Catelyn had cherished every moment, knowing it may be the last time they were together like this before Ned rode South. She secretly hoped another Stark would grow within her. Rickon was nearly six, and her arms felt empty for lack of a baby to cradle, the room bare without a cradle in the corner. She was not as young as she had been with the others, but still young and strong enough for another birth. She couldn't help but think she was trying to refill her nest as the little birds began to leave her one by one. They would all be going South soon enough, Sansa, Arya, Jon, Bran. Only Robb and Rickon left, and Robb a man grown and acting Lord of Winterfell. He'd be marrying soon enough, and the grandchildren would come. One more child of her own would be a blessing. Another girl perhaps, or another sweet boy like Rickon. They grew up too fast - Bran would be a man soon enough, and she would have to set about finding a suitable match for him. Jon and Robb should be married by now, something that worried her.

"I don't want to leave you." Ned said quietly, holding her close and interrupting her thoughts. "I belong here, with you."

"Perhaps you should stay, my love. I don't want you to leave."

"I could tell Robert I just can't leave Winterfell." Ned pondered, knowing it would never work. "Will you be alright, without me?" Catelyn gave a wry smile.

"I'll try and survive."

A knock at the door disturbed her thoughts, and her head whipped towards it. "Who is it?"

"It's Maester Luwin, my Lord." A voice Catelyn couldn't place, probably a steward, called back to her.

"Come in." Normally, Catelyn would not allow anyone to see her in bed, but Maester Luwin had delivered all her children, and seen every inch of her - there was no need for false modesty. He entered the room, his grey cloak blowing slightly in the cool night air, and he clutched a scroll in his hand. Catelyn shivered in the cold draft drifting through the room - Ned always opened a window in her chambers, the heat from the hot springs flowing through the thick walls being too much for his cool Northern blood.

Maester Luwin handed her the scroll, which Catelyn took cautiously. It was unusual there was news for her, rather than Ned, and especially in the middle of the night.

"A rider in the night," Luwin spoke. "News from your sister." Catelyn raised an eyebrow - what was so important her sister would send a rider, rather than a raven? Turning the scroll to break the seal, she recognised the dark blue wax, and the mark stamped upon it.

"This is from the Eyrie," she said aloud. "What's she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn't been back there since her wedding." She broke the seal, and read the words rapidly. Glancing up at the men in the room, she rushed to the grate and began building a fire.

"What news?" Asked Ned, watching his wife carefully. She was normally so calm and considered in her actions, and what she was doing now was panicked and frantic.

"Lysa's fled from the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered - by the Lannisters. She says the King is in danger!"

"She's fresh widowed Cat, she doesn't know what she's saying." Ned was by her side now, watching as she set fire to the paper.

"Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. The Lannisters are dangerous people, Ned. If Jon Arryn had set against them, they would destroy him." Catelyn paused, trying to process the information running through her mind. "You must go South, there is no question of it now. Robert needs you. He's surrounded by Lannisters - if you don't take the job, they'll put Tywin or the Imp in your place, and then he'll have no friends to protect him."

Ned nodded - he was reluctant to leave the North, but Robert was like a brother to him, and any doubt about leaving Winterfell had been erased from his mind. He hoped Catelyn and Lysa were wrong - that it was just concern spurned by the Lannister's reputation for killing anybody who stood in their way. If Cercei's brat of a son took the throne, the Lannisters could cement their reputation as the most powerful family in the Kingdoms. Lust for power was a trait Ned greatly disliked, and if it was his duty to stop such a thing happening, he would perform it with pleasure.

* * *

Jon looked around him, everything he owned packed into trunks. His sword was by his side, and he felt excited by the adventure that lay before him. He had never left Winterfell for longer than a few days here and there, and the thought of heading to the South, in a city he really knew nothing about, was something that both intimidated and excited , there was a rapid knock at the door, which opened without a word. Robb stood in the doorway, his face white as a ghost.

"Bran." That was the only word he said, and he ran from the doorway. Jon followed him at speed, his heart thumping against his ribs. They ran through the castle and out into the courtyard. Jon saw a crowd of people, and pushed through them. Before him lay the twisted body of his little brother, his chest still rising and falling, but his legs stuck out at odd angles. Catelyn had been warning Bran that he would fall, but Jon never believed it would happen.

"What can we do?" Jon asked, his voice shaking. "Where's Maester Luwin?" Leaning down to touch Bran

"He's on his way." Said Robb. "I thought I should get you, your room's closest. Someone's already gone to fetch Mother and Father." Robb's eyes never left the limp body of their little brother, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, clinging onto hope that he would live.

"Get a plank of wood from the carpenter, and some strips of cloth." Jon said to a servant behind him, who nodded and scuttled away immediately. Turning back, he saw Robb look at him like he was mad. "I saw a man fall from a ladder once, he looked like this, they carried him away on wood." He explained. "The cloth's to tie him down with, so he doesn't fall off. We can't move him until Maester Luwin's here anyway."

"He never falls." Robb muttered in reply, unable to process anything else. Hearing shouting, the boys turned to see Maester Luwin run towards them, robes billowing. Jon and Robb moved out the way so he could kneel close to Bran, running his hands gently over his legs and up his torso. The old man looked grim, and Jon wanted to vomit. Staring into the distance, Jon noticed Queen Cersei emerge from a door that only lead to one place - the high tower. Bran must have been up near there climbing, but what business did _she_ have there? Jon slipped away, taking the back route to the high tower so he didn't attract attention. Hovering by the bottom of the stairs, he saw the Queen's brother coming down - fastening his britches. Jon pressed himself against the wall, and listened to Jaime Lannister's footsteps disappear in the other direction. _What were they doing up there?_ Jon knew in that moment that they must have had something to do with Bran's fall, though he had no way of proving it. He wasn't thinking straight - why would Jaime Lannister have any reason to throw a ten year old boy from a tower? Shaking his head, Jon went back the way he came, running into his father.

"What's happened? Poole said there's been an accident."

"It's Bran, he fell from the tower. He's breathing, but he's not awake." Ned gulped with fear - for all his typical Northern gruffness, his children were his emotional weak spot, and his face drained of all colour. "Come, Maester Luwin's with him now." Jon lead the way, both men running back to their kin.

Bran had been moved onto the plank, and Jon could see women had torn their dresses to provide cloth to fasten him down. He was as stiff as the plank he was resting on now, he looked like a corpse. He was as pale as Winter snow, save for the huge, plum coloured bags underneath his eyes. Jon ran over to help carry the make shift gurney. Catelyn was by Ned's side now, her face dripping with tears as she sobbed uncontrollably. Pulling her back, Ned held her tightly as they watched their second youngest son be carried away. Robb shouted over to his parents that they were taking Bran to Luwin's chambers to be properly looked at. Cat immediately wriggled to be free to go with them, but Ned held her tight.

"Let Luwin examine him in private. You don't need to see that." Ned knew how bad Bran's injuries were likely to be, especially if he'd fallen from the top of the tower where he loved to climb. "We'll go to him as soon as Luwin's dressed the wounds. We'll be right outside the door." She nodded reluctantly. As she watched her little boy be carried away into the castle, she felt helpless, sick with fear and entirely at the Gods' mercy.

* * *

Hours later, Catelyn sat by Bran's bedside, making a prayer wheel as she had done so many years ago as she nursed Jon through the pox. Unlike the pox, there was no time limit on Bran's injuries and no telling whether he would recover at all. That night when Jon was hovering between life and death was a long one, but at least she had known it would be over, one way or the other. There was no telling how long Bran would sleep for - or if he would ever wake. His back was broken, and he would never walk again even if he did regain consciousness. He could never father a child, never ride a horse, never climb again. What kind of a life could that be?

He looked so peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping naturally. He had always been a handsome boy, and it was only now that she could see herself in him - he had the Tully nose, her long eyelashes, he looked like Edmure did when he was a boy. He was a Stark in colouring, that deep brown hair shining like a polished conker. Truly, he was the best of both of them. She felt as if she would burst with love for him, with desperation to see his eyes open again, to see his smile. She increased her weaving, staring down at the reeds as they took shape.

There was a knock at the door, and she called for them to come in. It was deep into the night, and she wondered who would still be awake at this hour. Ned had stayed with her for hours, until she told him to get some sleep. The door opened, and Jon poked his head round. She smiled a little, her first smile in hours, as he walked over to the bed. He was in his nightclothes, hair wild and unbrushed. She was glad he'd had a hair cut for the Royal visit, it was a little less like a bird nest than normal.

"I couldn't sleep." He said. "I was too worried. I had to see him. I won't stay for long, I promise."

"Stay as long as you want, sweetheart." She said softly, still weaving. Jon pulled a chair away from the corner. They sat in silence for a while. Jon just stared at Bran, willing him to wake up. "Have I ever told you how you came to be named Stark?" Catelyn asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was small, and she was wondering whether this was the right time to tell him this story.

"No, you haven't." Jon replied, wondering why this mattered now. He knew he was a bastard by birth, but had no desire to know any more.

"When you were a babe, a year old maybe, you came down with the pox." This was news to Jon, though it did explain those round scars he had on his chest. "There's something I've never told you. When your father brought you home after the war, I loathed you. You were Jon Snow, not Stark, then." Jon stared at her, feeling shattered.

"You - you hated me?" He asked, not sure if he'd understood her correctly. He had always seen her as his mother, and had naively assumed she had always seen him as her son.

"Yes." She answered him, feeling as terrible as she did on that night. "I hated you. When Ned first brought you home, I did a terrible thing. I prayed to the Gods that you would die." Jon looked as if she'd slapped him, but she felt compelled to continue her story. "I was the worst person in the world. I was young, almost as young as you are now. My husband had brought a stranger's baby home with him and demanded he be raised alongside my own son..I couldn't cope with your father's betrayal. That night, I sat with you through the darkness. Maester Luwin said that if you survived the night, you would survive. So I cooled your little forehead with water, sang to you, did anything I could to soothe your cries. That night, I made another promise to the Gods. If they let you live, I would be your mother. You would not be Jon Snow, you would be Jon Stark. They answered my prayers, and from that day, you have been my son."

"You wanted me dead." Jon uttered quietly, trying to comprehend what the woman he'd called Mother for all his life had just said. "You prayed to the New Gods that I would die." Jon was a staunch believer in the Old Gods, as were all the Starks, though Robb and the others also prayed to the New. Jon had never been inclined to, and Catelyn hadn't forced it on him.

"I did. And it has haunted me ever since." Her voice was small, her fingers still.

"Is that the only reason you've been a mother to me - because you promised the Gods? You didn't want the death of a little bastard boy on your head, so you made a deal with your stupid Gods!" Jon stood up, shaking. He walked over to Catelyn, who stood up to face him. "Did you ever love me? All those times I called you mama, did you wince? How about when I came crying to you because someone called me bastard - were you glad?!" He took a shaky breath. "Do you wish it was me lying there, instead of your true son?" Catelyn lost control, and slapped him hard across the face. He stared at her, utterly shocked, and turned away from her and left the room. He was shaking with rage, but cared too much about his brother to slam the door. Catelyn stood there in the black of the night, the prayer wheel lying forgotten on the floor. How could she be so foolish to tell him that story, especially now? She had loved him for all this time, and now he despised her and saw what kind of a woman she was capable of being. Turning to look at her sleeping son, she wept, not knowing who for.

* * *

Bran's condition improved - he was still not awake, but Maester Luwin was convinced that the danger had now passed, and that he would stir in time. Catelyn clung to this hope, but Ned was doubtful. There had been no signs Bran was coming round - no movement, nothing. Robert was pressing him to march South, and Ned couldn't refuse him. The royal visitors had been suitably unsure of what to do when your host's son was crippled. Robert had visited briefly, telling Catelyn he would think of the boy. The pompous Prince Joffrey had reluctantly paid his respects too, shadowed by his Hound, sounding utterly insincere. If Catelyn wasn't so desperate in worry for her son, she would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Queen Cersei had visited, and Catelyn had been genuinely touched by the telling of Cersei's own grief, and believed in the sincerity of her promise to pray to the Mother. Two women, so utterly different, yet united in grief only a mother could know.

The castle was busy with preparations to head South, and the thought of saying goodbye to three children all at once was something unbearable to her. She had not spoken to Jon since the night of Bran's accident. He had visited while Catelyn was out attending to personal matters, which was only for a few minutes at a time. She had passed him in the corridor on a few occasions, and he had avoided her eyes. She tried to speak to him, but he brushed her away. She didn't blame him at all.

On the morning they were due to leave, Arya, Sansa and Jon all came together to say goodbye to their mother and Bran.

"Goodbye Bran," Sansa said quietly, tears in her eyes. "I'll see you when you're better. I'll be properly betrothed to Prince Joffrey then, and you can come to Kings Landing to visit all of us. Maybe for the wedding." Catelyn couldn't help but roll her eyes - Sansa's desperate desire to marry that vile boy astounded her. "I love you, brother." Sansa delicately pecked his cheek, and Catelyn smiled.

"Have you remembered to say goodbye to Old Nan?" Catelyn asked. Her voice was raw from crying, and her body ached with exhaustion. Her other children had been neglected while she sat vigil at Bran's bedside, but she knew they would understand. Sansa nodded. "Good. Now, come here." She held her arms out, and Sansa walked round the bed and gave her mother a tight embrace. "Be a good girl for your father."

Arya was next to say goodbye. "Bye Bran. I'm sorry about beating you at archery. Maybe when you're older, you'll be better than me. Maybe." She gave a mischievous smile. "But just wake up soon, and then you can come to Kings Landing and we can watch all the tourneys and knights fight together." She kissed him on the hair. She walked round to her mother, and gave her a fierce hug.

"Stay out of trouble." Catelyn warned. "No sword fighting with the boys. You're a Lady of Winterfell, and I expect you to act like it." Arya looked down at her shoes. "I love you both, my darling girls." Both girls nodded, and a voice began calling for them. They ran out the room as they heard Septa Mordane's footsteps get closer. Only Jon was left.

"Goodbye Bran. When you're better, and can come and join us, I'll show you around. I'll be King Robert's squire, so I can show you things not everyone gets to see. You will wake up, I know it. I wish I could be here to see you when you do." He sighed. "Mother."

"Yes?" Catelyn had a lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry." He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on Bran.

"Not as sorry as I am, my love. Believe me."

"I do." His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry that I shouted in front of Bran. I can't forgive you yet, but you are my mother."

"That's good enough for now." She walked round to him and embraced him fiercely. "You are my son. I was a foolish, jealous young woman. Deciding to be your mother was the best decision I've ever made. I haven't regretted a second." Jon smiled. "You are my son." she repeated. Jon smiled.

"And you are my mother." She stood back and brushed his hair out his eyes. "I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you. Go now, or you'll hold everyone up. Be sure to write to me. And don't let Robert give you too much wine." Jon shook his head, and with one last kiss to his brother's head, he left to say goodbye to Rickon.

* * *

Jon saddled his horse in the yard, preparing for the long ride was by his side, and Jon wondered if the young pup was strong enough to walk the long way to Kings Landing. Jon had said goodbye to almost everyone, but hadn't been able to find Robb. He was pleased to see his brother make away across the yard.

"I've been looking for you!" He shouted, and Robb grinned.

"Father's been going over some last minute information I need to know as acting Lord." Robb explained, the grin still plastered on his face. Jon knew he was excited at his new responsibility, but couldn't help but wonder if he felt scared too.

"Lord of Winterfell," Jon sighed. "Don't burn it down." Robb punched him playfully on the arm. "I just said goodbye to mother and Bran. Have you seen the girls?"

"Aye, I said goodbye an hour ago. Bran's not going to die, I know it. And Mother? Have you two made it up?" Jon had told Robb what had happened, reluctantly, and Robb was just as shocked to hear of Catelyn's hatred as Jon had been.

"Aye, she was very sorry. I just can't help but think maybe she still hates me. If you hate someone enough to pray that they'll die as a babe - does it ever go away?" He tightened the reigns on the horse, staring into it's mane.

"Don't be ridiculous, she loves you. So, Kings Landing. Think of all the pretty girls you'll meet." Robb was smiling, and Jon knew he was jealous. There weren't many girls in Winterfell their own age, and all of those that were were either married or servants who were too scared to look the Stark boys in the face should they lose their hearts - and their jobs.

"Maybe I'll bring one back for you." Jon teased, ruffling his elder brother's hair and getting a punch on the arm in return. "I better get going, everyone else has ridden out."

"Father hasn't, he's just saying goodbye to Mother and Bran now." Jon nodded, and pulled his brother into a fierce hug.

"Farewell, Lord." Jon said into his ear, chuckling.

"And you, Squire." Robb held on tightly, reluctant to let him go and say goodbye to his best friend. He wished he could go too, to experience the capital as a young man. Duty bound him to Winterfell, and although he was happy to act as Lord while his father served as Hand, he wished he could have a little freedom.

* * *

**A/N: Some dialogue has been taken from the show and books, as this is intertwined with the canon. I hope you enjoyed, please leave a review if you would like.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Warning for strong language. You know, the word that rhymes with hunt.**

The journey South began without event, and Jon was astounded by the sheer amount of wagons, litters and horses traveling. While Winterfell was a major castle and the Starks were a noble and wealthy house, there was no needless extravagance. Jon was unused to the rich cloths, stitched with gold and silks, that surrounded him, and he felt a little out of place in his practical leather and wool clothing. The other men were dressed in elegant clothes with draping Jon felt was more suited to Sansa. Arya had glued herself to his side, and as his position as King Robert's squire wouldn't begin until they arrived in Kings Landing, Jon was happy to have her near, keeping her out of trouble. She was supposed to ride in a litter with Sansa and Septa Mordane, but he pulled her onto his horse and she sat in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. Nymeria, Lady and Ghost followed behind them, never tiring despite the many miles the royal party traveled each day.

Arya chattered away non stop, and Jon was glad she was excited to see the South. She talked constantly of the Knights they would see at Court, and Jon wished that she had been born a boy. Sansa had always been a lady, destined to curtsey and dance and birth children to a Lord. Arya on the other hand was a born warrior, wild and uncontrollable. Perhaps when she was older, he'd get her a sword, just a small one she could practice with. She was only young, she may grow out of this phase of wanting to fight with the boys, but Jon just wanted her to be happy.

"Jon, do you think you'll get married?" Arya suddenly asked one day as they rode along. Jon was caught off guard - he had never thought about it. He liked girls, he knew that much, but he'd never even kissed one so the idea of being married was a strange one.

"I don't know. Perhaps I'll join the Kingsguard one day instead."

"Are there any women in the Kingsguard?" Arya asked hopefully, and Jon thought for a moment, before telling her the truth.

"Not that I've heard." He saw her shoulders drop in disappointment. "You could be the first." She turned round and smiled at him. "If Father doesn't want you to get married." He added hastily. She scowled up at him.

"Sansa wants to marry Prince Joffrey." Arya said, her voice filled with scorn. "I won't be marrying anybody. You'll see." Jon didn't doubt her.

Jon hardly saw his father on the ride South - Ned was constantly by King Robert's side. Jon had no idea what they were talking about - from what Father had told him, he doubted it had anything to do with the running of Westeros. It was more likely to be about old times, when they were young. Ned had grown up in a time of civil unrest, and was fighting and killing men when he was around Jon's age. Jon, though not a coward by any means, was glad he didn't have to fight just yet. There would be time, but he didn't want to die before he had lived. Younger men than him died every day, but Jon was determined to live and enjoy his life.

Jon had decided he would have to keep a close eye on Arya in the Capital - she was always getting into trouble at home, but once in Kings Landing there would be no room for her creeping around. If she went too far, she could end up being hurt. He knew what men did to little girls if they had the chance. Sansa would do as she was told, and never dream of running around the Red Keep.

* * *

As the party progressed further South, they paused for a day or two at the Kingsroad Inn. Jon was glad for the rest; it had been a long ride, and his legs ached like never before. Ned told Jon at breakfast that Robert wanted Jon to join them today, though they would only be talking and not doing anything especially exciting.

"What about Arya?" Jon asked, worried about his sister being alone. Her reputation for naughtiness was well known, and this was no place for her antics.

"She can stay with Sansa and Septa Mordane and do her lessons. It's where she should have been all along, anyway. It'll do her good."

"You'd better tell her then." Jon gestured down the table to where his sister sat, and they both watched as she threw a piece of bread at her sister in annoyance.

"Arya!" Ned called down, and she jumped at the sound of his voice. She looked guiltily down into her bowl. "You'll be with Septa Mordane today," Ned nodded at the old woman "Jon's wanted by the King. I expect you to behave. Any bad reports, and you won't be allowed to ride with Jon again." Arya groaned in frustration, but soon stopped when she saw the look on her father's face. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, father." Jon couldn't help but laugh.

"What does King Robert want with me?" He asked his father.

"He wants to get to know you, I suppose." Ned looked around and lowered his voice, moving his head in line with his son's. "I don't want you to be shocked by what he says, lad. Robert never did mince his words, and he's no different as King." Jon wondered what this King would say that was so shocking. Jon had not seen much outside Winterfell - he knew by his age, Robert and his father had killed many men, been with women and seen more of the Seven Kingdoms than Jon expected to see in his entire life.

Hours later, as they sat away from the rest of the party in a quiet spot drinking wine, Jon finally understood what his father had been talking about. Robert talked graphically about women he had fucked, men he had killed and wine he had drunk. Jon felt like a child, embarrassed by what he was hearing. Ned looked embarrassed too, and only joined in with the odd sound, rather than his own stories.

"What about you, Jon?" Robert called over the table to him. "You ever been with a girl? Handsome lad like you, bet you're fighting them off." Ned eyed his son warily - perhaps he was curious as to the answer as well. Jon shook his head.

"I haven't, your Grace." Jon said quietly, feeling uncomfortable.

"My God, by your age I had bastards all over the place. Spread your seed, lad." A cold chill went down Jon's spine, and he didn't feel much like joining the King in his laughter. "No offense meant." Robert added, perhaps realising the insensitivity of his comment.

"None taken, your Grace." Ned said, though his face was stern. Jon remained silent, his argument with Catelyn flooding back into his mind.

"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, father, I need to find a tree." Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he got up from the table, knocking his chair over in his haste. Walking further than was necessary, he heard shouting. Locating where the noises was coming from, he crept quietly to investigate. Through the trees, he saw Arya and Sansa by the river they had passed earlier in the day, arguing with a person Jon couldn't see. Arya was holding a long stick, and Jon guessed she had been sparring with somebody. Charging through the trees to the clearing, Jon was just in time to see Arya smack Prince Joffrey on the back with her stick, and the Butcher's boy run off with a cut on his face. The Prince turned around, sword thrust in front of him, and roared "I'll gut you you little cunt!" Arya fell to the ground and the Prince loomed over her with the sword against her stomach. Sansa was sobbing, "Stop it! Stop it both of you! You're spoiling everything!"

"What's going on here?!" Jon shouted as he walked towards the scene, startling his sisters and the arrogant twat of a Prince. "What do you think you're doing?!" Joffrey glared at him, turning towards him. Jon moved his hand to his holster, ready to draw his sword.

"What's it to you, Bastard? Take your bitch sister, the ugly one, and get out of here." Joffrey was clearly challenging Jon to come near him, and Jon chose to ignore this, but had one hand placed firmly on the hilt of his sword. "A scar or two couldn't make you look any worse." The Prince hissed towards Arya, and that was all Jon needed to hear. He charged over, shoved the Prince away from his sister, making him fall to the ground, while Arya scrabbled to her feet. Jon drew his sword, although he had the sense to keep it low and let Joffrey scrabble back to his feet. He realised Nymeria was in the clearing too, growling fiercely by Sansa's side. Tears were pouring down Sansa's face, and she was still shouting for everybody to calm down.

"Sansa, hold Nymeria." He shouted to his sister, who did as she was told, grabbing her sister's wolf by the scruff. Turning back to Joffrey, Jon looked at him with unrestrained contempt. "You'd attack an unarmed little girl?" Jon roared, anger flowing through him as he moved forwards towards Joffrey, who kept moving back. "Only a coward would threaten a child, and a girl at that." Joffrey looked terrified, faced with a strong Northerner who wasn't intimidated by his title. "I'm not going to fight you, I'm not that stupid. But if I ever, ever see you lay a hand on my family again, our swords will meet." Staring unflinchingly in to the Prince's terrified eyes, Jon turned and placed his sword back into it's sheath. With one final glance at the Prince, he turned to his little sister, and helped her up from the ground. Suddenly, he felt an incredible pain in his back, and turning around he saw Joffery holding his sword, now covered in blood. He heard screaming, but everything began to swirl, and he fell forwards face first. Everything went black before he hit the ground.

* * *

Sansa screamed, rushing forwards to her brother. He had hit the grass with a thud, like a stone on water. He hadn't even made a sound, there had been no time. Even Sansa, hardly knowledgeable in fighting, knew that to hit a man who had sheathed his sword and walked away was the mark of a coward.

"How could you do that to him? He'd put away his sword! His back was turned!" She screamed, scrabbling wildly at Jon's clothing to try and get to the wound. Septa Mordane had taught her basic skills in how to treat wounds, but it would do no good now - she had no needle and thread, no alcohol to clean the wound, nothing. "Arya, go and get Father and find a Maester." Sansa had no idea if a Maester was even part of the entourage. "Jon, Jon, I'm here." She stroked his hair, willing him to wake up. His skin was already shining with sweat, and she could see a little of his face - his eyes were firmly shut.

"Leave him." Joffrey spat. "It won't kill him." Sansa said nothing, but didn't move an inch from her brother's side. "You're just as pathetic as your stupid sister and your cripple brother, not to mention that Bastard there." He stomped off, muttering to himself. Sansa had tears in her eyes, and looked back at Jon, lying face down in the grass. Sansa tried to calm herself to help Jon, and decided to make herself useful and examine him. All she could see was a welt of blood, thick and bright, trickling out of it. She wiped at it with her sleeve, and underneath the blood she could see that the wound itself was wide - Joffrey must have stuck a fair bit of his sword in, even though it only took a moment. It was clearly a sharp weapon, for it pierced straight through his thick leather clothing, tearing the hide and Jon's undershirt and exposing the skin beneath. Blood flowed like water from a spring, and she felt sick at the sight of it.

"Help!" She screamed, even though she knew Arya was going to fetch somebody. "Please! Somebody!" Nobody was coming, and the blood was still pouring from his back. Sasna tore a chunk off her dress, rolled it into a large ball and pressed it over the wound, watching as the pale blue turned a bright crimson. She heard movement in the forest, and grabbed Jon's sword in case she needed to protect herself. She was relieved to see it was her father, with the King at his side. Ned rushed over, sick at the sight of another one of his children badly injured.

"Sansa, put the sword down." Ned spoke softly to her, stroking her hair briefly. Sansa dropped the sword with a sob, moving both her hands onto the cloth, leaning over Jon. "You keep that cloth pressed down, hard. There's more help coming. Who did this to him?" Sansa looked at the King, then down at the ground. Robert groaned.

"It was that little shit, I'd wager my crown on it. He'll feel my belt for this, I tell you Ned." Robert said, as if that would make up for the fact his spoiled beast of a son had put his sword through Jon's back. Robert walked over to the Starks, and knelt by Jon. "Lift the cloth up, there's a good girl." He said to Sansa kindly, and she did as he instructed. Robert glanced at the wound before it welled with blood again. "It's a deep one, near the kidneys too. My personal physician will patch him up, you have my word When we reach Kings Landing Pycelle will see to him." Ned nodded gratefully, muttering his thanks, and Robert hauled himself up and strode back towards the Royal party. Sansa had torn more of her dress and resumed the pressure on the wound with fresh cloth, and father and daughter watched as the cloth again turned red, though it took a little longer until the cloth was soaked. The bleeding was slowing, though Jon's breathing was faint and ragged.

"First Bran was injured and now Jon - surely both of them can't die? It wouldn't be fair, the Gods wouldn't do it." She whispered to her father. Ned had lost his father, his brother and his only sister in a matter of weeks, in cruel and merciless ways. He didn't like to tell her the Gods did as they pleased, fair or not.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. To the person who commented about the age thing, you were right, I meant to put around fourteen months, so that's been corrected. Also your comment about using cannon quotes - I do understand your point, but as this is an AU I think using quotes but in different contexts adds something to the story, but each to their own and thanks very much for your review. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading. If updates are a little slow, there are two reasons: a) I'm away on holiday with no internet access for two weeks from Monday 11th, and b) I'm notorious for abandoning stories, so I've resolved to have least 1,000 words of the next chapter written before I update. So if there's an update, there will definitely be something fairly soon, hopefully before I go away.  
**

**The language warning at the top will only be used if there's the "c" word in the chapter, because if you watch GoT and are shocked by fuck and shit in a story, then there's something wrong with you. Personally I never say "c" in real life, but it's part of Joffrey's character, and who would want to change even a hair on his head?!**

**Please review if you'd like to.**


	4. Chapter 4

When Jon awoke, he was in a dark room, lying flat on his belly. His vision was hazy, but he could see the shutters had all been closed. The room smelt of sweat and blood, and he retched as the odor overwhelmed him. Turning to his side to vomit, he screamed in pain. The door flew open, and a Septa he didn't recognise swept in and pushed him gently back onto his front.

"You musn't move." She said sternly, placing her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, then lifting the bandages on his back. Squinting at his wound in the little light coming from the door, she tutted. "I think you've loosened a stitch. I'll send someone in to tighten it, but you mustn't move. Do you understand?" Jon grunted in response, nausea consuming him too much to speak. The old woman tutted. "I'll let Lord Stark know you're awake." Jon said nothing in response this time, still disorientated from the pain. He drifted back to sleep, his dreams muddled and confusing. He woke once, turned his head and vomited, then fell back to his troubled sleep. The room was stuffy and airless, covering him in a heavy sweat - though he wasn't sure if that was from heat or fever. Jon couldn't measure time, and after a while he heard the door open again, and heavy footsteps approach the bed.

"Open the shutters," Jon heard his father's voice, and he reached blindly out for him. "And get someone to clean in here." The shutters were opened, and the light seeped through Jon's closed eyelids and he moaned. "Jon?" His father's voice was closer now. "Jon, can you hear me?"

"Father." Jon moaned, squinting at the blurry outline in front of him. "Where are the girls?"

"They're fine, they're here with us." Ned said tightly. Jon tried to open his eyes, his vision a little clearer than it had been before. His father's face was stern, his brow set in a deep frown.

"Where are we?" Jon asked, his voice raspy and his throat burning.

"The inn on the Kingsroad." Ned said; Jon realised his injury had halted the journey South. "Jon, we need to know what happened." Opening his eyes wider and blinking slowly, Jon saw a second outline of a man standing in the doorway, but he couldn't focus enough to pick out any features.

"I don't know that I remember it all." He said, his voice weak, his throat raw from the acid in his stomach. "Joffrey.." He spoke, trying to piece it together in his mind. "Joffrey had Arya on the ground..he had his.." Every word hurt, and Jon took a moment to steady himself. He tried to move onto his back again, succeeding at least by turning onto his side. "His sword pointed at her belly, said he'd gut her. I took my sword..to stop him.." Jon mumbled, the pain still throbbing through him making him feel sick. "I never touched him, just warned him. I put away my sword, then I don't remember anything else."

"Well, that matches what your daughter said." Jon realised the second man was the King, and he tried to to sit up properly, flopping back down in agony.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, I didn't know it was you." The strength from him was gone, he felt as weak as a babe. The area around the wound felt as if it was burning. The wound was on his lower back, slightly above his hip, and every time he moved his upper body the skin around it tightened, and hurt like seven hells.

"Don't worry yourself, boy. I'm sorry for what my son has done to you. I've had words, believe me. Now I've heard your side, there will be consequences. He won't come near you again, and he'll leave those sisters of you alone. I'll deal with him in my own way." Robert sighed; he had always been disgusted by Joffrey's sadistic behaviour, and he knew that if it had been anyone other than Ned's son, he'd be facing a serious problem. Wars had been started by less. "And when you're recovered, there'll still be a place for you as my squire." Jon tried to smile, but wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "Now, we're only a few days away from Kings Landing. When we're there, Maester Pycelle will see you and this whole sorry mess can be forgotten." Jon heard the King walk away, and Ned sighed heavily.

"You've no idea the trouble this has caused, Jon." He sounded tired. "Sandor Clegane killed the butcher's boy, split him clean in half like a piece of wood for the fire. Joffrey's been walking around with a face like thunder and a bruise on his cheek. Robert always was one to speak with his fists. The Queen called the girls to tell her what happened, Sansa was too upset to even speak. He tried to tell Robert you attacked him, but the lad hasn't got a scratch on him and you're a skilled sparer, if you wanted to hurt him you would have done. The Queen still tries to defend him. I'm not sure it's safe for you here."

"Am I going to die?" Jon asked hoarsely. If Joffrey ordered an innocent boy to be killed, what would he do to someone who dared to challenge him?

"I would never let that happen, and neither would Robert." Ned replied, though he doubted his ability to truly protect him. "Do you want to return to Winterfell?" Jon thought for a moment, and shook his head. "Very well. When we're in Kings Landing, I'm giving you ten members of my guard. Just until I'm sure you're safe." Jon nodded, not seeing the guard as protection, but merely assistance if he ever had to fight. The rest of the party are going to go ahead, we'll remain here until you're a little stronger and we can put you in a wagon. If only you were well enough to ride, we could get you to Maester Pycelle quicker." There had been medics traveling with them, but nobody as knowledgeable as Pycelle. Ned distrusted the man, but wanted the best for his son.

"If I was well enough to ride, I wouldn't need a Maester." Jon retorted irritably, annoyed at getting hurt by a prick like Joffrey. "What damage did he do?" Jon asked, suddenly thinking he didn't actually know how badly he had been hurt.

"We can't be sure. It was a deep cut, the medics say it's almost certain you've got damage to your organs." Ned felt ill telling his son this, but all men in their position got their scars sooner or later. Ned just hoped the boy wasn't bleeding on the inside, a slow and painful death. Jon's face was death white, with the same purple rings under his eyes he had seen on Bran before they left. "Just a couple of days to Kings Landing, son. You just do what you're told, and you'll be fine." Ned, not normally one for physical affection, had the overwhelming urge to hold his son close to him. Seeing two of his children injured so severely in such a short space of time was a pain he had never known - watching two of his sons hover between life and death was a special type of torture. Bran could be lying dead in the crypts alongside Lyanna and the rest, and he wouldn't know it. "I'll keep you safe, son. I swear it." Jon didn't hear his father's promise - he had slipped back into sleep. Ned ruffled his son's hair, just like he used to when Jon was small, and left the room.

* * *

Walking back to his men, Ned felt heavy and deflated. Robert's words were empty; Cersei had complete control over her children, and would see that any punishment was lenient and empty. Jon was lying on a stretcher, still miles away from Kings Landing, barely able to move, and Joffrey was walking around free. Ned wondered if he was being too dismissive of the matter for the sake of his old friendship.

Walking back to his men, he saw Sansa and Arya sitting playing a clapping game. All the other children, including the Princes and Princess, had gone ahead, and the upset they had seen had brought them closer together. Arya had been devastated by the death of Mycah the butcher's boy, and blamed herself. Arya strongly believed that Mycah would still be alive if she hadn't asked him to fight with her, which Ned had to admit was true, though nobody could possibly predict an innocent play fight could end in such carnage. She blamed herself - and Joffrey and his Dog.

* * *

Ned had sent a rider back to Winterfell to inform his wife of their trouble on the road. A raven would be too easily intercepted, and Ned was anxious Catelyn know Jon had been hurt - and exactly who by. She would worry, yes, but he knew that if something happened to Jon without her even being informed he was ill, she would never forgive her husband. She still sat by Bran's bedside, some three weeks after his fall, and cried on and off throughout the day. When she heard the news of Jon's injury, she broke down in yet more tears.

Robb was furious.

"How dare that little shit harm my brother?! How dare he threaten my sisters?!" They were in Bran's room, watching as he slept on, when the news had come. Robb paced up and down, his hands clenched in fists, his whole body shaking with rage. "That fucking coward!" Catelyn winced at the language; she had raised her children not to use such coarse words, but she supposed if any time called for it, it was now. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of Jon being in such danger, especially as the messenger informed them Lord Stark had continued the journey South with Jon unconcious. Catelyn was reminded of Lysa's warning about the Lannisters, and she wished she had never encouraged Ned to go South.

"Robb, calm down. He's alive." Tears still fell down her face, and she struggled to keep her composure. "They're only a few days from Kings Landing, once they're there he'll be safe." Robb scoffed.

"He should be brought back here to Winterfell. They should all come back. If Joffrey stabs someone in the back with their sword sheathed, what's to stop him doing something worse? Who's to say he won't hurt one of the girls?"

"Your father's made a promise to Robert." Catelyn said, her eyes drifting back to Bran. She hoped he couldn't hear their conversation, it would upset him. Bran and Jon had always been close, and Catelyn couldn't bear the thought of losing them both. "If the Prince really did attack Jon, there will be consequences for him."

"What consequences?" Robb turned on her, so angry he almost snarled. A wolf indeed. "A slap on the wrist? The Lannisters attack the son of one of the most powerful Lords, not to mention the Hand of the King, in the Seven Kingdoms, and we're going to do nothing?!"

"Joffrey is a Baratheon," Catelyn reasoned, "and Robert's heir. Robert will protect him, to go against him would be treason. What can they do?! They can't imprison him, they can't punish him." Robb sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Sansa cannot marry him. I won't allow it." Robb was firm, and Catelyn nodded; she had never wanted Sansa to marry him anyway. She had thought he was just spoiled, but to find out he was a vicious brute was worse. She should never have agreed to the match.

"Believe me, I will do everything I can to end that betrothal. They cannot expect it to continue when he stabbed her brother through the back while she watched. No woman should ever suffer that monster."

"Women have been married to worse, mother." When they were silent, they heard the frantic barking and howling of the dogs in Winterfell. Robb crossed to the window, peering out into the darkness, and immediately stepped back. "There's a fire. You stay here, I'll be back in a minute!" He ran from the room, calling for men to join him as he ran down the corridor.

Catelyn looked towards her son, still sleeping through all the noise, until she felt eyes on her. Turning around, she jumped in alarm as she saw a stranger standing in her son's doorway. The man was not at all familiar, wearing the same dark leather clothing as Northern men, his face twisted into a smile that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Her heart raced, fear running through her in place of blood.

"Who are you?!" She demanded, drawing closer to her son, wanting to protect him.

"You weren't supposed to be here." The man smiled, his yellow teeth glinting in the candlelight. "No one was supposed to be here." Her eyes flicked down, and she saw a curved dagger clutched in his fist. She watched in horror as he approached Bran. "It's a mercy. The boy's dead already." He was still smiling, a smile that chilled Catelyn to the bone. He moved closer to the bed and raised his weapon, and her mothering instinct took over, all thoughts for her own safety gone.

"No!" She lunged at him, grabbing his arm. He fought back, using his strength over her to try and move the knife to her own throat. She grabbed at the blade, not even feeling the steel bite into her flesh, ripping tendons and cutting to the bone. A mother's determination was the greatest power of all; hiding pain and summoning strength previously unknown. She wrestled with him for what seemed like a lifetime, desperately trying to keep this man away from her precious boy. The knife moved closer to her throat, and she closed her eyes, unwilling to look into this stranger's eyes as he cut her throat. Suddenly, she heard a growl, and turned to see Summer pinning the man to the ground, ripping his throat away. When the wolf was finished, he jumped back onto the bed, lying alongside Bran, his jowls stained red.

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**A/N: Thanks so much for all your follows, favourites and reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be updating in the next few weeks. Thanks for reading!  
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